The Bellarmine Review Volume 73 Spring 2015 Volume 73 Spring 2015 the Bellarmine Review Volume 73 Spring 2015

The Bellarmine Review Bellarmine The Volume 73 Spring 2015 The Bellarmine Review Volume 73 Spring 2015 Volume 73 Volume fairfieldprep.org 1 Spring 2015 Spring The Bellarmine Review The Bellarmine Review Volume 73 Spring 2015 The Literary Magazine of Fairfield College Prepatory School 2 Volume 73 Spring 2015 Faculty Editor Ms. Linda Kaye Mr. Matthew Sather Layout Editor Turner Donelan ‘15 Cover Design Dan Tuzzoli ‘15 Co-Editors Steve Demakos ‘15 Mike Kokias ‘15 Assitant Editors Kevin Gallagher ‘17 Jihad Rogers ‘16 Patrick Demakos ‘18 Paul Cashman ‘15 Technological Editor Brendan Reed ‘15 Artwork Dan Tuzzoli ‘15 Jihad Rogers ‘16 Mission Statement We desire to publish poetry and prose that is clear, concise, and evokes the senses, taking the reader to the writer’s imagined place through strong writing and a good sense of rhythm. It is believed in Jesuit education that an academic endeavor may be an encounter with the divine, and we strive to live by the motto Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam. That is to say that in the authenticity of our written thoughts, we may unknowningly stumble on truth. Our intent is to give our students’ words a place to land, serving as an accom- plished venue to acknowledge their living truth. 3 The Bellarmine Review The Bellarmine Review Published annually at Fairfield College Preparatory School Table of Contents Poetry Dan Tuzzoli ‘15 Ode To A Book on a Shelf 7 Aidan Foley ‘15 Just Natural Feelings 9 Travis Gerald ‘15 Reality Is Dead 11 Darice Glaze ‘15 The Streets 12 Lucas Lazarre ‘15 Misunderstood 13 Alex Dailey ‘15 Despair, The End All Be All 14 Samuel Marcus ‘18 Scars 15 Brey Jackson ‘15 Ode To Departure 16 Damian Chessare ‘17 A Deathly Visit 18 Kevin Gallagher ‘17 The Canary 19 Brendon Russell ‘15 Follow the Light and Your Faith Will Guide You 20 Chris Montani ‘15 Don’t Change 21 Dan McPadden ‘15 Through the Clouds 22 Wit Geffs ‘15 The Hunt 23 Serginho Valcourt ‘15 An Autumnal, Forest Walk 24 Jihad Rogers ‘16 Suiting Up 25 John Carroll ‘15 So Close Yet So Far 26 Logan Clair ‘15 Growing Up 27 Joshua Rodriguez ‘15 Elegy to My Childhood 28 4 Volume 73 Spring 2015 Haikus William Bresnehan ‘15 Lost Bastion 30 Logan Clair ‘15 Traffic 31 Shaun Connelly ‘15 School 31 Chris Baudouin ‘15 Clear Skies 32 Serginho Valcourt ‘15 One Vacation Night 32 Lucas Lazarre ‘15 Veins 32 Dylan Moore ‘15 A Stare 33 Peter Lainas ‘15 Running Water 34 Prose Wit Geffs ‘15 The Fish 36 Daniel De Andrade ‘15 A Worthy Trip 39 Owen Haffey ‘15 Changeable Constellations 44 Will Bresnehan ‘15 Dad’s Job 49 George Seyfried ‘18 How To Save A Life 52 Stephen Demakos ‘15 The Same Old Fears 55 Turner Donelan ‘15 Kid Crusader 60 Essays Paul Cashman ‘15 A Father and His Son, 2,000 Miles and Counting 66 Matthew Rusin ‘15 Wiffle Ball 69 Simon Whiteman ‘15 Sports Exhibition of the Forest and Trees 72 5 The Bellarmine Review Poetry 6 Volume 73 Spring 2015 Ode to a Book on a Shelf Dan Tuozzoli ‘15 Through the slates of glass and window designs Upon you and your neighbors the morning light shines. They bark at me with their thick, gilded lines Reflecting the rain on their brittle spines. As my eyes roll along the shelf All I can see is the shelf itself. For these bound scraps of expensive paper Are invisible to me, as if they’re vapor. Through this braggart mob of bronze titles You are the one I can hear for miles. Yet you are modestly mute, blank and black; A lone wolf divorced from the pack. Not a word nor name to be seen by eye, Discounting the mystery which dwells inside Describes thy purpose on thy face. Only crumbs of age and spider’s waste. I dream this shadow that coats thy cover Is so you remain undiscovered. You could so easily hold an ancient secret, A holy message, a genius thesis. 7 The Bellarmine Review My mind creates an unreasonable trust That God created you from the dust, That a misplaced Shakespeare, a forgotten Homer Remains unread beneath your crust. A brick of pages that will go unopened. It is best your seal lives on unbroken For I am suspicious that thy mass Will not reveal my dreams of glass. 8 Volume 73 Spring 2015 Just Natural Feelings Aiden Foley ‘15 I don’t understand, something’s wrong with how I feel. I am not like him, or them, or the others. A guide would be nice to help deal with my deal. I feel foreign, my mind begins to reel Should I seek aid from my brothers? I don’t understand, something’s wrong with how I feel. When I bump into him my spine slithers like an eel. My arms they shake, my body stutters. A guide would be nice to help deal with my deal. Last night I found it hard for me to finish my meal. My stomach quivers with each word I utter I don’t understand, something’s wrong with how I feel. Today I decided to lift off this seal And I turned off the radio and said to my mother “A guide would be nice to help deal with my deal.” But the words she spoke did not rust my steel, A simple “okay” should suffice, but my mind races and flut- ters. I don’t understand, something’s wrong with how I feel. A guide would be nice to help deal with my deal. 9 The Bellarmine Review Dan Tuozzoli ‘15 10 Volume 73 Spring 2015 Reality is Dead Travis Gerald ‘15 I shut my eyes to go to bed In my dreams born again Reality is dead My heart burns bright red My eyes like the lion’s den I shut my eyes to go to bed All I remember is what they said They said my chances were one in ten Reality is dead My heart drops like its hung on lead I just want to get done and say “Amen” I shut my eyes to go to bed The storm starts churning and my dreams, they fled Oh how I wish I could be one of the wise men But reality is dead I scream at the confusion in my head I must embrace my inner zen I shut my eyes to go to bed Reality is dead. 11 The Bellarmine Review The Streets Darrice Glaze ‘15 Young men losing their lives to the streets Some die and some are put away All because they’re “gripping the heat” Executed by each other and executed by the police Tears and worries are talked about today But the truth is people won’t care in the next couple weeks Young men imprisoned, their friends tell them don’t snitch or speak And hold the belief when they come back they’ll be praised But in reality they’re alone in these streets Your life is a game that can’t be edited or tweaked Mothers in the crossfire, tears being leaked Every decision you make can’t be redone or replaced Time’s something you can’t get back, dreams you’ll never reach Parents wishing they could see their children graduate I want to congratulate the few who want to change the streets Who want to give strength to the weak And pray for the preyed And give pavement to the street 12 Volume 73 Spring 2015 Misunderstood Lucas Lazarre ‘15 And everyone saw it as such, but she thought otherwise Her actions were ridiculed and she was often ostracized She was the same person but wore a disguise Her goods were for the public, and she knew what that im- plied She stood all by herself, like an elephant undisguised And everyone saw it as such, but she thought otherwise She was conscious of her actions, it’s not like she even tries To resist to peer pressure, interaction: she was too deprived She was the same person, but wore a disguise Leaving voicemails and texts for me to read, that’s when she cries Conversing with her, saying she has to be chastised And everyone saw it as such, but she thought otherwise No thoughts of consequence; very foolish, unwise Not many good decisions, her life must be revised She was the same person, but wore a disguise She confessed that she cared, now to me that’s a lie: I’m sur- prised And everyone saw it as such, but she thought otherwise She was the same person, but wore a disguise 13 The Bellarmine Review Despair, the End all Be all Alex Dailey ‘15 The sun is as vibrant as life itself So too is the glimmering water Laughter, joy and sorrow Are the many emotions That impede upon this beach. Many know it will end soon. But we cannot let that make us sad. For despair is the end all be all And as my mother once said “If you let death be the life of you; you are not living.” I ran my finger on the hood of the car Picking up a trail of grey dust that exposed the forest green. She looked with admiration upon this little old car, Reminding her of the memories that have accumulated over the years. The MG sat low to the ground, making it difficult for her to smoothly sit down. She ran her long spindly hands along the dash, Caressing the cherry wood. She seemed to age just as fast as the old car, Hell, they were practically born in the same year.

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